Retroactive
by ihadnowittyusername
Summary: [Oneshot] We all have to make our mistakes. His, is an almost impossibly unbearable ex employee.


**Retroactive.  
**Cameron's prettiest when she's just waking up.

She's undone. Her hair is messy and frizzy. Her cheeks are bare. Her lips are pouty and she's open.

Open is the best word for it.

Her body is the most alluring when bare. When it's not covered with turtle-necks and button-up-blouses and dresses with long sleeve shirts hidden underneath. She's impossibly conservative, even in the summer.

She sits up, pulls the comforter over her chest and folds her arms over it. There are small hairs, just transparent enough to avoid tangibility, standing on end. They're small. Thin. But he accidentally brushes against her when he falls backwards onto the bed in an attempt to get his pants up and that's when he can feel them. They remind him that she's really there.

They won't talk. Not at all. House will pull up his pants and pull on his shirt and he'll be just a little more erratic towards her because if he doesn't she may get the idea that last night was more than a one night thing that he already regrets.

Apart of him feels bad for her. And apart of him wants to tell her so. He wants to tell her that she isn't a mistake and that she's worth more than a cheap bottle of wine and one-night stands that could never last.

He doesn't. Mainly because that would be illogical. That would be the absolute wrong thing to say. If there could be the wrongest possible words strung together that sentence would take the cigar.

Fuck.

What a mistake.

* * *

He hasn't been close in awhile. Close to anyone. He works better that way. He works better because he knows that he won't have to answer the questions when he gets home. He won't have to argue about stupid things that don't even matter. He won't come home to knitted eye-brows and folded arms. He won't come home to a wife who says she's angry because he refuses to "wash the fucking dishes" or "put the toilet paper on the actual roll," 

And he won't have to yell and in the end pull her body to his and tell her that he knows that she's only upset because he's working late and that he's doing the best that he can to fix it.

Cameron looks at him in a different light though.

She's like a child. She looks at him the way a child does a distant uncle. Or the cool one that brings back gifts and stories of distant lands. She looks at him with admiration. She's attracted to fuck-ups. She's attracted to people who can't give her anything. She wants to save people. And he's convinced that she likes that feeling she gets when she's crushed. When she realizes that she can't save it. When she realizes that she can't fix it.

She's the kid that invests all her time in the sick puppy. The one that the owner warns you about. The one that he expects no one to look at. He even raises an eyebrow when you beg your parent's for it. And Cameron can't help but to go for it. That one mistake she can't help but to make it. He suspects that she wouldn't stop herself even if she wanted to.

Her kiss is gentle. It's cautious. It's curious. She pulls back to look into his eyes before she does it again. He tells himself that he could never love her.

She's too needy.

Clingy.

She's..a woman.

Not that Gregory House is gay. Not that he's asexual.

No.

He's smart. He knows that women make things complicated. He knows that every time he's fallen before (that one time) it's been hard. He knows that he's not right for love. He knows that he'll never find anyone.

But it's been a very long time since he's fucked anyone and her kiss is soft and he gets that old, familiar feeling that has come to mean disaster.

He see's it all in her eyes.

The wanting.

Needing.

Desperation.

Gregory House convinces himself that she won't get attached. That it'll be the same tomorrow and the day after and the day after. She surprises him. She arches into his tongue and whispers. He wishes that he didn't hear. He wants to pull away, from the warmness he's found in her neck but he doesn't and what she's says sinks in. Deep.

He's caught.

He knows it.

But instead of pulling away and ending it he un-buttons her blouse delicately.

Partly, trying to find some kind of reason.

He doesn't.

She repeats what she's just said a minute go.

"This is a mistake,"

He agrees but he doesn't say so.

He wants to but her lips steal his and he doesn't say anything. He tries to rid himself of that want. That aching feeling in the pit of his stomach.

He tries not to think.

* * *

"Come right in," House mutters, slightly angry, leafing through the folder Cameron's just shoved into him. She's on his couch. One leg is thrown over the other and she's folded her arms in a way that seems to not suit her at all. She seems agitated. 

"Why didn't you tell us you authorized those?"

"Hmmm..." he pulls it out, trying to think of something witty to say. Something smart-allecky that'll make her leave, "last time I checked...meaning since I hired you...I don't come to you for _anything_. Especially at--" he checks over his shoulder to send a glare over to the clock even if he just checked a couple of minutes ago, "midnight. Now if you'll excuse me by kindly getting out of my house I can get back to bed," he drops the files on the table in front of her and motions towards the bedroom.

"_Right_," she squints and leans backwards into the couch cushions, "because we all sleep in khaki's and leave our left over," she raises an eyebrow and eyes the half-eaten chicken on the coffee table, "chicken out. Not to mention that your tv's on,"

He rolls his eyes and leans into the door, half, in an attempt to shut it.

He surprises himself. He wants her to leave. Not stay. It would be logical to open the door.

She looks a little surprised also.

There's silence. A long silence. She stands. He's never seen anyone walk so slowly.

"Your angry because we're leaving. Just so you know though, I still have two weeks" she's whispering.

She's back to her childish self. She's no longer confident with arms folded and legs crossed.

She's gentle. She's wanting. She's needing. She finds his lips and presses against him. He falls backwards into the door and she pulls away to look into his eyes.

She imagines him ruining her. Crushing her. Because he will. If she gives them enough time they all do. She presses her body against his and his lips trail down to her neck.

She parts her lips slightly, a soft moan coming out.

And before she or he can forget it she reminds him.

"This is a mistake,"

Something they both, very well, know.

**An: **I'm still unsure about House in this. I want to make a one-shot where House is _really_ House. Throwing around witty-one-liners and being as offensive as possible. Yep. My first House fic (which is only a one-shot) and I'm already talking about making more. Well _hopefully_ there'll be more to come. Oh yeah, and if you didn't notice, the one-shot is moving backwards. (And I'm aware that wrongest isn't a real word).


End file.
